


Five Things That Were Different About the Parallel Universe and One Thing That Wasn't

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Mostly Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Doctor discovers, things can be... slightly different in a parallel world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Were Different About the Parallel Universe and One Thing That Wasn't

**Title** : Five Things That Were Different About the Parallel Universe and One Thing That Wasn't  
 **Authors** : [](http://shinyopals.livejournal.com/profile)[**shinyopals**](http://shinyopals.livejournal.com/) and [](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/profile)[**goldy_dollar**](http://goldy-dollar.livejournal.com/)  
 **Disclaimer** : We don't own Doctor Who.  
 **Pairing** : Ten II/Rose  
 **Summary** : As the Doctor discovers, things can be... slightly different in a parallel world. Crack!fic in places.  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **A/N** : Original post [here.](http://shinyopals.livejournal.com/126157.html)

**I**

It was Jackie who told him.

 _Of course_ it was Jackie who told him. Had it been Rose, she might have been nice about it. But because it was Jackie, she most definitely wasn't. She was, at least, tactful.

She came to find him at Rose's place (or was that his place as well, now?) while Rose and Pete were at work one day and gave him another one of her how-to-be-human lessons. That day's lesson consisted of using the vacuum cleaner, separating the washing, what an electricity bill looked like, and making comments about his CV. She pointed out that he'd have to get a job sooner or later and he smiled and nodded and quietly feared for his life.

 _Then_ she told him.

"Doctor," she said, "your breath smells disgusting."

He blinked.

"When was the last time you cleaned your teeth?"

"Er..." he started to say, then trailed off. He suspected the answer was 'never', given that this body was only a week old.

She gave him a revolted look.

"If you ever wonder why Rose doesn't want to kiss you these days, it's got nothing to do with that funny business with the end of the universe and the two different versions of you," she said, "and _everything_ to do with the fact that you need to clean your teeth."

"Well Time Lords only really need to clean their teeth once a month or so," he protested. "The enzymes in our saliva are far more effective at breaking down food, so everything's kept nice and clean and..." He trailed off again and raised his hand in front of his mouth to smell his breath.

Jackie might, he was forced to admit as he coughed violently, have something of a point.

"All right, all right," he said, slightly sulkily. "I just forgot I'm not... you know, the same any more. Maybe I need to do it every few days in this body."

Jackie patted his shoulder sympathetically, handed him a fiver to buy a toothbrush with, and sent him out to one of the small shops nearby, then left to go back home. She told him to keep the change and suggested he save up to buy himself a piggy bank. (He had the feeling she might be mocking him, but he rather liked the idea. It sounded a lot more fun than a bank account, after all. So he decided to do just that.)

By the time he got back to Rose's flat, toothbrush and toothpaste in one pocket, jangling change in the other, Rose was home, looking a little worried.

"Where've you been?" she asked, hugging him.

He hugged back. And then hugged for a bit longer. "Your mother sent me shopping," he said, concerned that he seemed to have worried her. "I didn't dare refuse. I wasn't long, was I?"

"Nah, I'm just... being silly," said Rose, shrugging and dropping her gaze. "Just leave a note, next time, yeah?"

He nodded eagerly. "I will," he promised. "Anyway, I have to clean my teeth now. Jackie said you might kiss me more if I did that."

She stared at him.

"Not that you have to, if you don't want to," he added hurriedly. "Jackie just said... well, that's not important. But she gave me some money to buy a toothbrush!" He pulled the brush and paste out of his pocket and brandished them triumphantly.

She giggled, which was a good sign as far as he was concerned.

"Go on then, Doctor," she said. "Go and clean your teeth."

He bounced into the bathroom, buoyed by the potential for more kisses, squeezed some toothpaste onto the brush, stuck it in his mouth, started brushing and... spat it out all over the mirror.

" _What_ ," he demanded as Rose appeared at the doorway, "is this?"

"Er... toothpaste?" she said, looking confused.

"It's... it's... _turnip_ flavoured!" he stuttered. "What happened to mint?"

"Oh," she said. " _Oh_. I remember. I forgot about mint. They don't do that here." He turned around to stare incredulously at her (he couldn't see her in the bathroom mirror because there was an awful lot of toothpaste covering it). "We're in a parallel world," she reminded him. "The really upmarket places do swede flavoured, but I prefer turnip. You sort of get used to the turnip after a while."

"I am _not_ getting used to it," he insisted.

But then she looked a little disheartened, and he didn't like that at all. And he also remembered the kissing thing. So he got used to it very quickly. Two minutes exactly, in fact. Rose-kisses made turnip worth it. Just about.

He still went out the next day and bought some mint plants for a windowsill garden.

 

**II**

The Doctor was late.

Not that Rose would admit to keeping track of how long he'd been gone. But it _was_ the Doctor and if anyone could find trouble at the supermarket, it was him--especially when he'd been there for two hours.

She sprang up as soon as she heard the door open and clamped down on the suddenly overwhelming urge to run to him and throw her arms around his neck. Jackie was fond of flinging words like "co-dependent" around every time she and the Doctor were in the same room together and Rose was determined to prove her wrong.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Doctor shuffled into the living room, empty-handed and looking more miserable than Rose had ever seen him.

“Oh my god,” she said. “Who died?” Without giving the Doctor time to reply, she continued, “It’s Tony, isn’t it? I _knew_ that stomach virus should have been looked at.”

“No, it’s not that,” the Doctor said in a melancholy voice. Rose barely had time to register relief before he added, “It’s worse.”

“Worse?” Rose said. “What could be _worse_?”

The Doctor stared at her, mouth opening and closing like he didn’t quite know how to respond. Finally, in a strangled voice, he managed to emit one word: “ _Bananas_.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open and she did her own gaping, “I’m sorry?”

The Doctor nodded solemnly. “Bananas.”

“Bananas?” Rose croaked, beginning to feel like they were going around in circles.

The Doctor shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. “The supermarkets here don’t carry bananas. And I went to _three_ of them.”

“Oh,” Rose said, wondering if she should thank the Doctor for the premature grey hair he’d just given her. “Yeah, they’re sort of… rare on this world, actually.”

The Doctor looked appalled and couldn't seem to formulate a response.

“Parallel universe and all,” Rose continued. “They just… never took off on this Earth for some reason. Now mangoes on the other hand…”

The Doctor scoffed. “Time Lords are allergic to mangoes.”

Rose stared at him.

“Well, sort of,” he amended. “And I am only half-Time Lord now.” The Doctor pondered this quietly for a few moments like he was still having trouble grasping the enormity of it. He shook himself and said, “But that’s beside the point. Rose, this world doesn’t have bananas?”

He looked so desolate and lost that Rose had to fight the urge to go and cuddle him. Which… no. No, he wasn’t getting a cuddle over _bananas_ , of all things.

“It’s not that there aren’t _any_ bananas,” Rose said. “They’re just… not that popular.” She frowned. “They might even be seasonal. Are you _sure_ about the mangoes?”

The Doctor stared at her doubtfully like she wasn’t taking this as seriously as he thought she ought to.

“Of course,” he said bitterly, “I just _had_ to get trapped in the world without bananas. Not the world without shrimp. Oh, no. _That_ would have been tolerable.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “Trapped?” she said icily. “Tolerable?”

In a split second, the Doctor’s expression went from “nothing could be worse” to “whoops.” Rose almost felt sorry for him.

“Well, I say ‘tolerable…’” the Doctor began nervously. He backed up a step and banged against the sofa. He wobbled, arms flailing in the air, but he managed to grab the back of the couch and stay upright. He cleared his throat a few times, looking like he was trying to regain his dignity.

Rose folded her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows.

“…tolerable would be how _some_ people might describe the situation,” he finished lamely. He paused and scratched idly at his chin. “I, on the other hand, think quite highly of this universe. It’s got you, doesn’t it? Brilliant, that is.”

He smiled brightly at her as if to erase the last few minutes from her mind.

Rose loosened her arms, a responding smile tugging at her lips. “All right,” she said. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you about the bananas. I guess I’ve had other things on my mind the last little while.”

The Doctor looked a bit pained, but managed to say, “Right.”

“Listen, I’ll talk to Dad,” Rose continued. “He’s got contacts all over the world. I think there's a community in Mexico that grows them.”

The Doctor’s eyes brightened hopefully. “Really?”

Against her own volition, Rose found herself blushing. She always did when he looked at her like that. “Who knows? You could even build a greenhouse and grow your own.”

The Doctor looked fascinated by this suggestion. “Now there’s an idea. And Jackie’s always saying I should get a job.”

“Well, there you go!” Rose said, trying to sound encouraging while another part of her (the sane and rational part, probably) wondered where on earth they’d find room to build a greenhouse, never mind the materials for one.

“'Hello! I’m the Doctor and I grow bananas.'” The Doctor paused and considered this statement carefully. “A... banana grower? A banana farmer? Ooh, I like that.”

“Of course, you’d probably eat them all,” Rose said. “So profit margins would be small.”

The Doctor blinked at the words “profit margins” and then waved that away. “First things first, there won't be any greenhouses until I finish rebuilding my sonic screwdriver. So far, I’ve almost managed to calibrate the setting to open doors. Just needs one or two... or three modifications. But who's counting? The setting to make popcorn is working brilliantly, however.”

Rose blinked. She might be living in a small London flat with the Doctor (who cooked and cleaned for her on a regular basis), but her life was still far from normal.

Which reminded her. “Doctor, I understand this is a difficult time for you, but… we’re still out of milk.”

He flashed her the “whoops” expression again and started edging towards the door. “Just… going to pop out to the supermarket. Again.”

“Come back with actual groceries this time, yeah?” Rose said. “And don’t just buy all the sweets! Broccoli’s good for you!”

She heard the Doctor make a “blech” noise from down the hall.

Rose raised her voice and added, “Or we’ll have to start going over to Mum’s for dinner!”

“Broccoli coming right up!” the Doctor hurriedly yelled back, his words soon followed by the sound of the door slamming.

Rose shook her head and then reached for her mobile. “Yeah, Dad? It’s me, Rose. I’ve got the _weirdest_ favour to ask…”

**III**

It started out with a perfectly innocent shopping trip.

Rose had had to pop into Torchwood for a couple of hours, so the Doctor had wandered around a shopping centre close to Canary Wharf, waiting for her to phone him and say she was done. He didn't like Torchwood at the best of times and he certainly didn't like the idea of sitting around for two hours being glared at by a minder who would smack his hand away from anything he tried to touch. Visitors to Torchwood had to be accompanied at all times, and when Rose was busy, that meant someone had to watch him. And glare at him.

So instead he went shopping.

He bought a packet of jelly babies and ate them as he wandered around. He got kicked out of Marks and Spencer, Clinton's and The Body Shop for eating, but he didn't let that put him off. Instead, he put the jelly babies in his pocket and found a pleasant enough looking book shop. Pleasant mainly because it didn't appear to have any CCTV, so no one would notice him eating if he did so carefully.

His fears were unfounded, however, when the young woman behind the desk cheerfully offered him a mint imperial. He traded her one for a jelly baby and leaned against the desk, discussing fantasy fiction.

That was when it all went horribly wrong.

Before he knew it – before he had a clue what he'd done – she'd summoned the shopping centre security and he was physically dragged out of the shop. He made a bit of a scene, he had to admit, since he didn't take well to this sort of treatment. In fact, he slipped out of their grip and ran for his life, only to be caught by another guard at the side entrance.

Several pictures were taken on camera phones by passers by, and he rather suspected this would end up in the local newspaper and all over the internet in the next ten minutes.

Jackie, he thought miserably, was going to kill him.

And Rose would be even worse, because she _wouldn't_ kill him. And he'd end up feeling bad for embarrassing her. Again.

It wasn't that he wasn't _trying_ to do things right. He just wasn't doing as well as he'd hoped.

He'd assumed this was something minor, like eating jelly babies indoors, but apparently resisting capture (running away and then telling them he was a fair bloke and he'd give them one chance if they'd just let him go, interspersed with several insults, after being caught) made it something of a bigger deal.

He sat sullenly in a little room, being watched by one of the guards, while one of the others called the police. Fifteen minutes later, two police officers arrived and arrested him. Handcuffs and all.

This was _not_ his day.

"What's all this about?" he asked. "All right, all right, I shouldn't have run away. I'm sorry."

"We're sorry, Sir, you're going to have to come with us."

He sighed, eyeing the small window in the room (he'd never get his head through there, let alone the rest of him) and the door (two security guards still there). _This_ was why he needed a new sonic screwdriver.

Well, actually, a sonic screwdriver wouldn't be much use here.

 _This_ was why Rose should never (ever) leave him by himself.

"All right," he said with a dramatic sigh. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

"Sir, are you attempting to bribe a police officer?"

He opened his mouth, but a little voice in his head told him there was nothing he could do apart from make the situation worse, so he closed his mouth again and shook his head mutely.

The police officer told him why he'd been arrested.

The Doctor stared. "I'm sorry," he said, "I think I must have heard you wrong. Could you repeat that?"

The police officer repeated himself.

The Doctor continued to stare. Then he allowed himself to be quietly led out to the waiting car and driven away, too stunned to continue to make any sort of protest.

There was, he decided, absolutely _no way_ this was real. He'd fallen asleep and was having a particularly strange dream.

At the police station, they allowed him to make a phone call. Rose answered on the second ring.

"Hello," he said cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Doctor," she said, "why are you calling from a police station?"

He had planned to break it to her gently. Apparently Torchwood's caller ID system had seen fit to do that job for him. But she didn't sound surprised. She was good like that, Rose, always dealing with the unexpected with barely a blink.

"I may," he began delicately, "be in a spot of bother."

" _Please_ tell me you haven't blown something up."

"What? No! Rose! I'm offended that you would even-" He broke off when the policeman in the room with him cleared his throat. "Anyway, I seem to have been arrested."

"I was sort of guessing as much. What for, exactly?"

"I'm not quite sure I understand it, exactly-"

" _Doctor_."

"I tried to buy Harry Potter! In a book shop! I asked the clerk 'have you got any Harry Potter?' and next thing I know she was calling security!" He could hear Rose suppressing a giggle. "It's- it's- the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Since when is Harry Potter illegal? It's like I've woken up in a parallel..." He trailed off, the end of his rant not packing quite the punch he'd hoped when he remembered the truth.

"Universe?" Rose supplied, still sounding amused.

"Why," he asked, "is Harry Potter illegal?"

"Oh, it's one of those silly laws," said Rose. "You know, like shooting a Welshman from Chester on a Sunday is fine. Except that it's illegal to sell books written in a coffee shop in Edinburgh. And it was never repealed. So when Harry Potter got big and the news got out, it got blanket banned and JK had to move to America."

The Doctor stared blankly at the wall. "I think I may be going insane," he said. "I think I must be imagining today. Please tell me I'm imagining today, Rose."

She laughed again, although sounded a bit sympathetic. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," she promised. "Need to make a quick call to Dad's PR team first for damage control."

"Ooh, are you going to bring a file hidden in a cake?" he asked excitedly.

The policeman gave him a rather suspicious look.

Rose giggled again. "No," she explained patiently. "I'm going to come and pull rank. Torchwood and all that."

"Ah," he said. "That's just a little bit clever." He paused. "A file in a cake would be more fun, though."

"See you in twenty, Doctor," she said, and he could still hear the barely suppressed laughter in her voice as she hung up.

He replaced the phone and turned back to the policeman guarding him. "Twenty minutes and I'll be out of your hair," he said. "Not that you have much hair, since you're going a bit thin on top. _Anyway_ , you wouldn't happen to have an illegal copy of _Philosopher's Stone_ in your evidence locker, would you? No?" He paused, deciding he was on the wrong track. "How about _Lord of the Rings_? Narnia? They're not illegal, are they? Please tell me they're all right?"

When Rose turned up twenty minutes later to spring him from prison (well, to haughtily inform the guard that the Doctor was vital for national security and if she had to deal with this sort of thing again, heads would roll), it could not have happened soon enough.

Especially since she brought him a cake.

 

**IV**

 

Rose finished reapplying the suntan lotion and pushed her sunglasses further up her nose, before relaxing back into the deck chair and allowing herself to drift gently towards sleep.

It had been a long and tiring week at Torchwood. Lots of night time work, lots of rain, lots of squelching through fields in search of elusive alien creatures. But the case was now solved, and she had the weekend off, and for the first time in days it had decided to be sunny. This meant making use of the small balcony that came with her flat and catching up on sleep.

The Doctor had, in his usual way, woken her up far too early (accidentally, so he said) and wanted to make the most of their time off by going to the Natural History Museum. He'd told her he'd been on Wednesday afternoon and was absolutely _certain_ one of the curators was an alien. Before he'd been able to explain _why_ he was so certain of this, she'd fallen asleep in her breakfast cereal and the Doctor had been forced to concede that waiting another day was unlikely hurt anyone.

Rose had gone back to bed for a few hours. When she'd woken up again, she'd found a note spread across three bright pink post-its. Two were stuck to her forehead, the other on her right hand, and he'd written on both sides of each post-it in his old-fashioned looking scrawl.

> _Rose,_
> 
> _I have gone out in search of great adventures into the unknown._
> 
> _I have no plans to get arrested or cause any explosions, so I probably won't have to phone you. I imagine by the time you read this it will be mid afternoon, so if you're hungry and too tired to cook, there is pasta salad in the plastic pot with the orange lid in the fridge. It's one of your mother's recipes, so I absolve myself of any responsibility whatsoever for the taste._
> 
> _Also, you may help yourself to a banana, but I would appreciate it if you limited yourself to one. The next shipment doesn't get in for three days, after all, so I am carefully rationing them in case of crisis._
> 
> _From,  
>  You Know Who_
> 
> _PS: Not You Know Who as in the white snaky Dark Lord from the books which I daren't name for fear of further trouble with the law. You Know Who as in Me. I think you might have got that, though, since I doubt there are other people wandering into our flat and writing you notes while you sleep and making you lunch. I certainly hope not. If there are, I might have to have a word with them about privacy and all that. See you soon!_

She'd smiled, carefully put the note to one side and then helped herself to the lunch he'd made (which wasn't nearly as bad as he seemed to fear), before heading out on to the balcony, where she was now relaxing.

She did have a book with her, as well as her mobile (in case he _did_ get arrested or blow something up), but in the warmth of the sun she felt herself drifting off to sleep again.

Naturally, such peace couldn't last.

Through the open door leading back to her flat, she could hear the front door open and the Doctor bounce in. Apparently he was happy. She wasn't sure she wanted to open her eyes, turn around and find out why. It wasn't as though his happiness was a bad thing - anything but - it was that he often tended to take joy from situations so bizarre that it made Torchwood look tame and every day.

"Rose!" he said, suddenly right behind her. She guessed he was probably standing in the doorway, rocking backwards and forwards on the little step down, with that pleased-with-himself little smile that meant something had gone right.

Taking a deep breath and trying to prepare herself, she stood up off the sun lounger, and turned around.

There he was, exactly as she'd predicted, down to the rocking and the smile (although that widened a little at seeing her). But there was no way she could have predicted _that_.

"You-" she tried, pointing vaguely at the thing on his shoulder. "You've got- You- I-"

"I went shopping," announced the Doctor, seemingly oblivious to her staring. "Not for fun, of course. I don't shop for fun. That's just not something I do. I was... searching for hostile alien activity. Or something. Anyway. I happened to wander past a pet shop. And look!"

"I- I can see," said Rose faintly.

"Isn't he cute?" The Doctor beamed happily.

"Doctor," began Rose, "you bought a _monkey_."

"He's not just a monkey," said the Doctor, the smallest hint of a pout gracing his lips, which vanished as he turned his head to the small, brown creature sitting on his shoulder. "He's Frederick Zanzibar-Bakewell the Third. After the forty first century singer."

"Why...?" She trailed off, question unfinished.

"Because he looked sad," said the Doctor, patting Frederick Whatever-his-name-was on the head. The monkey played with his hair, apparently searching for bugs. "I didn't know you could just walk into a shop and buy a monkey. Surely that should be illegal? Or there should be some sort of license? Someone like Frederick could have ended up with any old person. And I couldn't have that."

"Monkeys are popular pets here," said Rose, with a shrug. "Among the rich and famous, anyway. Sort of a status symbol, poor things." She wrinkled her nose, having seen enough little monkeys dressed up in frilly clothes at her mother's parties to not be a fan.

"Well just think," said the Doctor, as Frederick jumped to his other shoulder, then reached down to grab his tie, "we've saved poor Frederick from that."

"Doctor," said Rose patiently, "legal or not, you can't keep a monkey in the flat."

"Why not?" he asked petulantly. She was reminded of herself, aged five, demanding a pet dog. Jackie had ignored her.

"Well who's gonna look after it - him - for a start?"

"Me, of course!" he said, as though it was obvious. "Frederick can keep me company during the day."

Rose blinked. She knew the Doctor had yet to work out exactly what to do with his time, but the idea of keeping a monkey hadn't featured highly on the list of things she'd expected him to try.

"Doctor, my flat's tiny," she said. "It'd be cruel."

"No crueler than that little box they were keeping him in the pet shop," argued the Doctor, stroking Frederick. "You want me to take him back to that?"

Two sets of beseeching eyes were fixed on her.

She sighed. "No, I don't," she admitted.

The Doctor beamed.

" _But_ ," she added, "monkeys eat a lot of bananas."

The Doctor's face paled and he looked at Frederick cautiously, seeing him as competition for the first time.

"Hmm..." he said, pretending to be casual. "Perhaps this flat is a bit too small...?" He looked at Rose hopefully, clearly still not keen on the idea of returning Frederick to the pet shop.

"We could ask Dad again," suggested Rose, wondering if she was really going to regret this. "Maybe he can find space in the garden for some nice big enclosures. And then if there are one or two other sad looking monkeys, they can join Fred. But don't go rescuing them until we've talked to Dad, right?"

"You," he told her, with a smile even more brilliant than even the ones he'd given Fred, "have the best ideas, Rose. Have I ever told you that?"

"And you have the most ridiculous ones," she replied. He frowned a little, and she smiled, to reassure him. "That's a good thing by the way."

"Oh," he said, grinning again. "Well that's all right then."

He stepped forward to kiss her. It was a very nice kiss, until Frederick pulled her hair and she jumped backwards with a yelp.

The Doctor frowned at Frederick, seeming to realise the other pitfall of pet monkeys that hadn't previously occurred to him.

"I think perhaps we should talk to Pete sooner, rather than later," he suggested.

"That," she said, "is one of the _least_ ridiculous ideas you've ever had."

 

**V**

 

The Doctor was sweating.

This was a new and not entirely pleasant experience for him. His body temperature as a Time Lord had been far lower than an average human’s. Meaning he never used to notice hot summer days.

On the telly, the local news appeared obsessed with the weather, and ran story after story on senior citizens struck down by heat stroke and the various hosepipe bans across the country "Looks like this heat wave won’t be letting up any time soon, Bob. Desperate citizens search for anything that might help them cool down,” said the weatherman. “Experts suggest staying indoors out of the sun. Should you venture outside, remember to drink lots of water.”

Helpful, that was.

The Doctor reached for an ice cube (he had a handy glass of them sitting on the coffee table next to his hand) and plopped it in his mouth. Down by his feet Ziggy--the automatic vacuum that he'd built out of an old frisbee and the microwave plate--zoomed by and disappeared under the couch before popping up on the other side and hitting the wall. There it stayed, whirring uselessly against the wall, waiting for someone to set it in the right direction again. The Doctor reached for another ice cube.

“Well,” continued the weatherman (or was it Bob?), “it’s certain to be a bright and sunny Christmas. Those of you last minute shoppers will just have to brave that humidity. Back to you, Bob.”

The Doctor spat out the ice cube. What? Christmas? What?

That couldn’t be, could it? He stumbled out of the living room and into the kitchen, where the wide-open window blew in hot and sticky air from the street. He looked at the calendar. No, it definitely said July.

He searched his pockets for his mobile. Rose made him get one—said it was the best way to track him down without the TARDIS, and besides, they could get a family plan together. (The goofy smile he’d given her at the word “family” was probably what made her think she’d talked him into it. Clever.) Finally, his fingers hit something smooth and square. He pulled it out with a triumphant, “Aha.”

Quickly, he dialled Rose’s number, tapping his foot while he waited. Blimey, it was hot out. Really, really hot. How had his human companions stood living like this?

“Hello?” She sounded out of breath. No doubt he interrupted her during an important Torchwood field mission. He felt a pang of guilt—he didn’t usually call Rose at work unless there was an emergency.

Which this _was_ , he reminded himself.

“Rose,” he said, “out of curiosity, have we been invaded by the Xyclops? They create widespread confusion and disorientation.”

There was a pause.

“Doctor, what are you on about?”

He dropped his voice, glancing suspiciously at the kitchen window in case there might be a Xyclops lurking there at that very moment. “Rose, it’s the middle of July.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Right,” he said, trying not to sound impatient. Usually Rose was on the same wavelength as he was. “Here we are, middle of a record-breaking heat wave, and they’re talking about Christmas on the news. This doesn’t seem odd to you?”

“Oh,” Rose said, in that tone of voice that suggested she was faintly embarrassed about not telling him something important.

“Oh? _Oh_?” he repeated. “Well, what is it?”

“Um…” Rose said nervously, “parallel world, remember?”

He took a moment to let that sink in. Did that mean…? No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Christmas is in July?” he said doubtfully.

“Yup.”

“But, Rose… what about Father Christmas and reindeer and—and snow? And opening presents around a warm fireplace? And hot cocoa?”

Not that he _wanted_ all those, of course. He just thought Rose would.

Rose laughed. “It’s more like cold drinks, swimming in the back garden, and tofu.”

He almost dropped the phone in horror. “ _Tofu_?”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition in this world what with the turkey shortage and all.”

“ _Turkey shortage_?! Since when?”

Rose ignored him. “Also, we’re going to my mum’s. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

This was, officially, the worst day ever. Even worse than the day he learned he couldn’t purchase a copy of _Harry Potter_ in this universe. He had to go for Christmas at Jackie’s _and_ eat tofu?

“Honestly, Doctor,” Rose continued, “this can’t be such a huge surprise. Didn’t you notice all the decorations people were putting up?”

“You humans put up decorations for football matches!” he said, trying not to screech (and ignoring how much his tone of voice suddenly sounded like Donna’s). Another thought struck him. “Hold on. Does this mean I have to go Christmas shopping?”

Some of the terror must have been evident in his voice because Rose stopped laughing and said, “No, that’s all right. I bought everything we need. Put your name on the card and everything.”

He suddenly found himself grinning. “We’re giving out gifts? Together?”

“I just sort of thought… yeah,” Rose said. “Yeah, we are. Is that all right?”

“Brilliant,” said the Doctor, and he could practically _see_ Rose’s responding grin on the other side of the mobile. He suddenly found himself wishing he could hug her and considered digging out his alien-track-and-seeker to find her, but Torchwood had forbidden it after he accidentally created that six-car pile up that one time. Which had done a bang-up job of stopping the alien about to make a getaway, but apparently hadn’t been very discreet.

“Okay, then,” said Rose. “Not so bad, is it? And anyway, Mum said she was ordering in Christmas biscuits. The ones with the sprinkles?”

He found himself perking up, but then realized something else. “Wait,” he said. “What about you? I should get you something.”

“Doctor, you don’t have to. I know how silly you think this all is. Life isn’t about Christmas gifts, yeah?”

“It isn’t silly!” he said indignantly. He happened to like gifts. He could get them matching sun hats! Or make Rose a sonic screwdriver of her very own so she would stop borrowing (and never returning) his newly-built model all the time. Ooh, he could get them tickets to the opera. Okay, so last time they went to the opera, Rose fell asleep and dribbled on his shoulder, but that was beside the point.

“Rose,” he said, “it’s our first Christmas together. Well, our first Christmas together in this universe. I should get you something. I’d like to.”

He tried to remember all the parts he needed for a new sonic screwdriver. Blimey, he’d probably have to go to the hardware store. And find _money_. He hated trying to find money.

“If you’re sure…” Rose said.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said importantly. He paused. “Anything else I should know?”

“Can’t think of anything,” Rose said. “Why?”

The Doctor imagined discovering France had been built on a live volcano or that fish in this universe could breathe on land. It was enough to make any bloke feel like his history wasn’t as good as it was supposed to be.

On the other hand, it _did_ mean he had loads of new things to learn.

“Never mind,” he said. He grinned. “I’m going to the library!”

He’d have time to buy those parts for the sonic screwdriver later.

 

**And One Thing That Wasn't...**

 

The door opened halfway and then stopped, hitting something solid. Rose frowned and pushed her shoulder into it. She managed to crack the door open wide enough to stick her head through.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting (aliens? Ziggy, the vacuum cleaner?), but the door appeared to be blocked by a stack of books.

Well. That was unusual.

“Doctor?”

There was a muffled thump, and then his voice said, “In here!”

She was pretty sure the voice emanated from the living room. Rose glanced at the books and then shuffled the rest of the way through the doorway, gingerly closing the door behind her. That accomplished, she turned her attention to the hallway, dodging stacks of books as she went. She glanced at the bedroom as she passed it, not surprised to discover more books piled on the floor and on the bed.

Finally, she reached the living room. It appeared to be the centre of the book implosion. The books were thrown about haphazardly, some sitting open with writing scribbled in the margins, others marked with pink and yellow post-it notes.

Rose’s eyes fell on the Doctor. He was sitting in the middle of the room with his back leaning against the coffee table. He had his glasses on, a pen sticking out of his mouth, and appeared to be flipping through three books at once.

Rose blinked. Then blinked again. He was still there.

“Um…” she said, “is everything all right?”

He glanced up like he was only just noticing her. “Hello!” he said, giving her a goofy grin he reserved for when he thought he was being particularly clever.

Rose turned around in a wide circle. “Are we opening a bookstore?” She tried to at least seem irritated, but she couldn’t keep the interest out of her voice. She couldn’t help but feel excited by whatever mad thing the Doctor was up to this time.

“History, Rose,” the Doctor said as if it was obvious. “Specifically, Earth history. This Earth’s history.”

Rose stared at him. “You’re doing… research?”

The Doctor nodded. “Parallel world. Who knows how this universe is different? _And_ with my sum of knowledge, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time could be catastrophic. Honestly, Rose, there aren’t even Pringles in this universe.” He shook his head like this was a deeply affecting tragedy.

“Right,” Rose said. “Figured you’d say something like that.”

She looked around for somewhere to sit and finally settled for moving _Prehistoric Butterflies_ off the sofa and on top of Darwin’s _Evolution of the Species_. She sat down, eyes on the Doctor as he flipped pages and mumbled to himself.

“Learned anything?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Doctor happily. “Dodo birds never went extinct, a hippopotamus is a furry three-legged species of wolf, and the Eiffel Tower is called the World Tower. Or Tour Monde en français.” The Doctor shot her a cheeky grin. Then he frowned. “I’m rather upset about that, actually. I quite liked the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yeah, that’s… a lot to take in, all right,” Rose said as the Doctor returned to his reading. “So that’s what you’ve been doing all day?”

“Well, first I had to get a library card. _Then_ I had to convince them to lend me so many books at once. Psychic paper helped, by the way.”

“Oh,” Rose said. She looked around their flat and sincerely hoped the Doctor remembered that borrowing books from the library implied he’d have to return them at some point.

“Have you heard about Toga Day?” the Doctor said. “It happens every four years. Just like leap year—which is in November instead of February, you know—anyway, all of England wears togas in celebration of classic times.” The Doctor slammed one of the books closed and beamed. “Isn’t that brilliant?”

There was a Toga Day? Really? How had she missed that? They’d been in the parallel universe for more than five years—surely she should have had at least one. Working probably, she figured, frowning.

The Doctor was still staring at her, evidently waiting for her to share in his excitement. “Yeah,” she said hurriedly.

His grin slowly slipped and he studied her. “Rose, is there something wrong?”

“Wrong?” she echoed, shifting uncomfortably. “Of course not.”

He was looking all serious now and peering at her in that hesitant yet curious way which always made her think he’d quite like to open her head up and take a peek inside.

“It’s nothing,” she found herself saying. She looked down at her hands. “It’s just… I guess I kind've liked that you had to ask me for answers for a change. It’s silly, I know.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor after a pause.

She chanced a look at him. He was smiling in an unfocused way, seeming lost in thought.

“What?”

“And I thought,” he said, lanky body unfolding as he sat up, “you might start to doubt me if I didn’t have all the answers.”

Rose pondered that as the Doctor took a seat next to her, dumping a pile of books off the couch and onto the floor with a loud _thunk_.

 

“We’re stupid,” she finally said. She placed one hand on his knee and he covered it with his own. “It was nice to be needed, I suppose.”

“Rose,” he said and swallowed hard. “I need you for everything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Sure, without the TARDIS—”

“Even _with_ the TARDIS,” he interrupted.

She looked at him, studying his profile quietly. “Yeah?” she finally said.

“Oh, yes,” he said. He stared straight ahead and dropped his voice, “I got the better deal than he did, in the end.”

Rose felt a lump gather in her throat. Talking about the other Doctor still made her heart ache. Instinctively, she leaned into the Doctor’s arms, relaxing when he gathered her up closely.

She glanced around their now very cluttered and rapidly shrinking living room.

“Doctor, how’d you get all these home from the library?”

“Don’t you know?” he said with the air of someone who thought he was very clever. Rose smiled to herself. That was something that would probably never change. “This universe has book teleport pods.”

She pulled away and stared at him. He stared back. “No way,” she said. “You’re making that up.”

He tapped her affectionately on the nose, looking far too proud of himself. “Maybe.”


End file.
